Star Spangled Stars
by Il Volpe di Verde
Summary: Did you ever wonder what would happen if Starfleet itself was considered a "nation"? If someone had to be used to make it? Well.. Perdition would like to inform you that it has been taken care of. GO TO CHAPTER THREE, OR TWO FOR EXPLANATION.
1. Chapter 1

So. Havent really looked at this since i finished. Translations at bottom. Thoughts?

* * *

Ah, boredom, how it bred at these pointless world conferences. This month's was hosted in D.C., which no one but Alfred seemed to _not mind_, but he supposed that was because he was right near his home and didn't need to head to some hotel with brats running around every evening and horrible breakfast food. Instead, he went to his barely-qualifies-as-a-house-because-of-his-small-ass-capital and ate what everyone else saw as barely edible. Ah, McDonalds... Currently, everyone was going about the usual business of arguing to no end and getting nothing done, with England tossing a chair at France's face. God.

Alfred was, admittedly, a bit too tired and stressed for any of this, what with his government going haywire over the slightest move from _something over the goddamn ocean, _and a good chunk of his people complaining about the recent elections. Just what was he going to do if it was mostly republicans now? Blow up Congress? Actually, that sounded like a good idea, now that he thought about it...But that was beside the point. He was the host this month, and couldn't just up and leave, no matter how little attention the others were paying him.

So, to try and relax until the meeting for the day ended, he had gotten a coke from the vending machine and taken out his sketchpad. Well, not really his, to be honest, more of just a loan until he was allowed to _stop _drawing. Apparently it could serve as "therapy" or something, as if the awesome him needed that. But, as he started to draw more, he lost focus on the things around him, intent on the pencil strokes and shadows. So he didn't notice when the majority of those around him had quieted and were now looking at him expectantly.

"Alfred." No response.

"Alfred." A poke of his shoulder gained no response.

"_AMERICA!" _This time England slapped him on the back of the head, finally earning a yelp and glare of of the other nation. Alfred rubbed the back of his head, grumbling and setting the pencil he had been using to draw down.

"What?" He snapped. England gave him a look that clearly said _what do you think, imbecile _and crossed his arms, scowling uncomfortably.

"Have you been listening to a word we've been saying? We were asking about certain... rumours going around." Alfred blinked, and finally peered around at them all. England and a few other countries had distinctly unsettled airs about them, although some like France and Veneziano Italy were smiling the sun had started dancing. Germany and Switzerland were emanating sort of _let's get this over with and never speak of it again _airs, and Russia and China were... giving him distinctly creepy stares. As if they knew something. A feeling of resignation settled in his stomach as he guessed just what the rumours were. He chugged a bit of his coke for strength.

"And? What were they? I'm sure the tabloids have offered up so much valuable information." He bit out, setting it down and going back to his drawing. It was one he hoped no one really noticed, one he didn't really want to notice, but he'd be damned if he let that kid get on him for not doing it. He only had the expression left to do, and he'd be damned if _that _came out bad.

England shifted in his seat and averted his eyes, looking highly uncomfortable again. He opened and closed him mouth a few times, not really knowing how to phrase it, but was spurred into speaking by France's finger, which he immediately smacked away from his poor arm with a hiss that didn't sound like it should come out of anything humanoid.

"There's been sightings by some of the others that you've... had a.. child with you lately. And that you've supposedly been seen with him around the capital." The unspoken _again _passed unsaid, Alfred pushing away memories of old jeers about his many children. Damn a person if they "got around", huh?

It had somehow turned into what they saw as "procedure". Whenever he had another kid, he'd walk around with them, get to know them, and take them to the capital to, what the other countries assumed, have the tyke meet the president. In truth, most of the time, his kids stayed in their states when he first had or found them, and he'd show them their own capital. The ones he'd been seen around D.C. so much with were the ones he babysitted for old friends.

He gave a fake laugh, scratching the back of his head with a large grin. "Yeah, I guess they're right, then. Why do you ask?" England blinked a little, not really processing what he said, and Alfred could swear he heard Germany spluttering in the background, with someone snorting behind a hand.

"Why do I- _Alfred_, why do you think I would bloody ask? Did you have another kid? Is it true?"

"Ja, vwe have a right to know, America, especially if you are splitting up land or taking more." Germany cut in, frowning hard.

"Oh. Sort of. Not really. He's not much of a kid." Silence reigned as the others tried to make heads or tails of his answer, and he went back to his drawing, humming. It was nearly done, but he decided he would finish it at home, if only for convenience. He folded it away in his case, patiently waiting for the others to catch up. If they really bothered. This group's been known to brush off what they don't understand, after all.

"Alfred, _mon fils, _what do you mean by that?" Francis slowly asked, brows furrowed. "IS he yours or not?"

"Like I said, sort of. Look- it's hard to explain, and he's only really done half of that." Alfred replied, bemusedly shoving Texas farther up his nose, even if he didn't really need to wear them anymore. "If you want, I can bring him down and you can see for yourself. The house is only about ten minutes away, and he knows all the shortcuts." The other countries looked between themselves, muttering uncertainly. Some started to argue about it and power plays (mainly nations such as Iraq and Syria, who wanted to beat the ever-loving tar out of him), but most of the were for the idea or just didn't plain care. Nothing would get done during the meeting anyways.

"Why the hell are we even bothering with this?" Lovino Vargas called irritably from his seat, jabbing a turtle on the table with a pencil, "Who cares if that idiot had another?"

"Yes, I do not see how Amerika's promiscuity is a matter of concern." Russia agreed, smiling that irritating smile all the while. That glint was still in his eye though, the creep. America flipped him the bird in retaliation, not really caring about the other's animosity at this point. 23 years make some grudges fade, after all. Right now, he was busy pulling out his phone and dialing. The others watched as he waited for it to stop ringing, and he tiredly smiled when it clicked, a panicked voice filling the speaker.

"Hey Laticima, how is- hey, hey, calm down what- oh, no, don't worry about that, as long as he puts it back together it's fine, he's done worse- look, don't _worry _about it, I'll put it back together or get a new one, I promise, I don't blame you, _no hay de que, _but could you bring him down here? Down here, to the building. It's by the Denouement. The others in my meeting want to meet him. Just tell him friggin' 'Kelvin', he'll understand. Maybe. If he causes any trouble, I'll pay you double, alright? Thank you." He snapped it close with a smile, gazing easily back at the others. "Ten minutes tops. That good?"

"I suppose." Germany said resignedly, taking back to his seat from where he had been yelling at North and South Korea for fighting again. France and England swarmed around Alfred when the chaos settled in once more, each taking a seat and momentarily glaring at the other.

"Tell me _mon cher_, who is the other parent? I have no seen you close to any of the others lately, are you hiding an illicit affair from us? Forbidden love only by the moonlight?" France teased, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically. England scoffed across from him and whapped his arm.

"Don't be ridiculous, Frog, of course not. It's just some alliance gone strange, isn't it Alfred? I still remember that incident with Israel." Alfred twitched at the memory of it (and of the names it brought up- ah, Amaris, Abraham-) before shaking himself out of it and giving the other man an exasperated roll of the eyes.

"No, I'm definitely sure he isn't from anything like that. He just... I just.. found him." He finished lamely, fiddling with his sleeve.

"Ah! As I found Mathieu and Angleterre, you!" Francis crowed delightedly. "Then he must be of you. I wonder, are you splitting, Alfred?" He shrugged, and probably would have muttered something in the negative, but England interrupted again.

"We'd know of something like that, wouldn't we? Governments don't exactly hide secession." He griped.

"Ah, but sometimes it is better to stay in the shadows,_ mon cher_, to be subtle, not that you would know anything of that. After all, isn't your secret service completely out in the open?" France replied primly, a small smirk on his face as he boredly examined his nails.

"Why you-!" Arthur choked out, reaching across Alfred's space to throttle the Frenchman. Said Frenchman jumped up, babbling something in French- Alfred though he heard a "bunny" in there at some point- before blowing a kiss and hurrying away to hide behind Canada. England followed him, shouting and shaking a fist.

"Francis, Arthur, can we not do this again?" He tiredly called, sighing when they ignored him and instead started another chair fight. He hoped no one tried to make him pay for those.

_It's a wonder the world isn't in shambles, _Alfred thought absently, _To hell with the conference, man._ _Maybe I can slip out and grab a burger before they get here? McDonald's isn't that far..._

Alas, he could not carry out his burger-snatching, because he ended up having to rescue Canada from his occupation as a human shield. He was sort of doubting England would really notice the other boy, knowing his tendency to disappear unless oil came up. He shoved the boy to the side right as the island nation jumped at Francis, screaming obscenities in what might have been Gaelic or pure gibberish. Canada gave him a grateful smile and they plopped down into their seats, Canada's being across from Alfred.

"S-so, how have you been lately, Al? I know things have been a little bad with ISIS and all.." Matthew asked, giving his brother a smile. Alfred snorted in response, taking a swig of his coke.

"Mattie, you wouldn't even believe what's going _on _anymore. I swear, either I'm getting criticised for that or for something the Senate's doing or for some plane crashing or some idiot refusing to be quarantined because _who knows anymore. _It's like they think I actually have any power! I'm like a second president here, I fill out paperwork! I can't even override Congress anymore!" The nation cried, throwing his arms up in exasperation. The Canadian snickered, used to his brother's behavior.

"I'm guessing that's why you're not laughing or shouting every minute?" He asked gently, sighing when Alfred gave him a confused look. "You've practically been worse than Arthur today, Al. I'm surprised you didn't bite off his hand when he hit you."

"O-oh. I didn't know I was that bad." Alfred replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "No one's annoyed more than usual, are th-" A loud knock on the room doors interrupted him, and he jumped up. Some of the others who heard it stopped their activities, watching with interest as he rushed over and cracked it open, smiling at the small woman who was shifting from foot to foot there.

"_¡Laticima! ¡Gracías para miràndolo! Lo siento para algo hizo_. I know I wouldn't be able to keep my house in one piece without you." He exclaimed warmly, giving her a half-armed hug as she passed him a bundle of flowers.

"It is alright Mister Jones. Nothing he was I could not take." The woman replied, although her smile was a bit shaky. Alfred gave her a knowing look, and she deflated, running a hand over her face.

"He is very bad, Mister Jones. He would not stop breaking the electronics in the house, and would have taken the flowers if I did not grab his shirt." He sighed, casting his eyes upward in a silent prayer, before snapping them back to the woman, realising something.

"Where is he by the way? I don't see him with you." Laticima froze, twirling around and frantically running over to the nearby corners. Her long skirt fluttered behind her. The longer she couldn't find him, the more she panicked.

"_Oh Diós mio, dònde estàlo!? Niño!_" She called, flitting from side to side. Alfred watched her for a few moments, bemused and only slightly worried, before hearing a quiet cough to his side. Glancing over, he was hardly surprised to see their missing brat curled up on the wall with a faintly guilty look on his face.

"_Sa tore'ri tvai tor. Sa vesh'zungor_." He said quietly, giving Alfred a pleading look. The nation sighed and scratched at his head again, calling for Laticima to come back before she went too far. When she turned around and saw the "boy", a relieved expression passed on her face before an angry one encompassed it, and she stalked up to him, grabbing his ear with a hand.

"_Què piensas __hacer? Tuve miedo!_" She exclaimed, giving his ear a harsh tug. He winced and gave her puppy dog eyes, opening his baby blues as far as they would go, knowing she couldn't resist. And right he was, because she glared at him for a bit more before huffing and letting go, smoothing his hair down with a fond hand. "Please do not do that again, _niño_. It gives me stress." He dutifully nodded his head, not wanting to anger the kind woman again, and she gave a few parting words to him and Alfred, trotting back to her own home in the city. Alfred gave him a sharp look of his own, to which the brat sheepishly shrugged and made a _what can you do_ gesture. Finally, he guided the "boy" into the room, where the others were eagerly waiting to find out why there had been shouting in English and intermittent Spanish for about five minutes.

They stared as the two walked in, put off by the... uncanniness.

Alfred certainly wasn't lying about the child, but they didn't expect him to be so... similar. With sun-kissed blond hair, cornflower-coloured eyes that seemed too bright and too off, and a face that spoke of many pranks in store, it was almost like they were just looking at a smaller Alfred with cropped hair.

"Is this your little one? He is so adorable, Alfred, and just like you!" France cooed, bending down to smile at the boy at eye level. "But I must ask, why have you dressed him in those horrid rags?" The man said disapprovingly, roving an eye over the boy's attire.

He was wearing a white button-up sizes large for him, something more fitting for an adult, and jeans rolled up at least five times on his legs. A pair of headphones hanged around his neck, the cord disappearing into his shirt. When France mentioned it, he uneasily shifted from foot to foot, glaring at Alfred again.

"Hey, don't blame me!" Alfred protested, raising his hands, throwing an agitated glance down, "I actually bought good clothes for him once I knew he was actually alive, he just threw them at my head and stole from my dresser. And hasn't _stopped _doing it."

"_Lau-sa_ _trasha_?" The boy said in return with an agitated tone, "_Sa tor'ri aitlu ne-tor be'lai_."

"Oh my God no, you suffer with me. And speak in English, not everyone's a nerd like you." The boy glared at him again and whacked the older man in the leg, earning a snicker.

"Are we even sure he's like us?" Switzerland suddenly said, creeping towards the front of the crowd, "For all we know, you could have made a stupid mistake and thought he was one of yours, America." He held his gun protectively, and Alfred really, really hoped he wasn't capable of shooting a child just to prove a point, because then he just might hate Switzerland a fuck of a lot and have more nightmares about that which he just could not handle.

"Ai ya, does that really matter, Switzerland?" China said impatiently, eyes shifting this way and that, edging closer to the boy, "What is more important, what is this little one's name? What do you call yourself, boy?"

"Well, I suppose we could get both out of the way." The boy finally piped up, speaking English in a dry, annoyed tone. "It can be a present to the only damn person who's addressed me in first person in the past ten minutes. Can I do it, Al?" A grin spread across America's face as he considered what the "boy" was proposing, and he nodded after a few seconds, chuckling with a smirk.

"Why not?" The "boy" smirked, and wordlessly began to stalk towards Switzerland. The nations around him watched in fascination and slight disgust as limbs snapped and reformed, skin and muscle stretching, clothes filling out. He stopped a foot away from the small nation, knowing full-well he was in his personal space, six feet flat and smirking as if he knew how to make the world turn tipsy.

"You can call me NASA, CNSA, RFSA, or Jim Kirk, although I prefer the last one." The now-man purred, leaning in until Switzerland arched back and fell over.

And then all hell broke loose.

* * *

_Mon fils -_ my son

_mon cher_ \- my dear

_no hay de que -_ It's nothing

__Gracías para miràndolo! Lo siento para algo hizo - __Thank you for watching him! I'm sorry for anything he did.

___Oh Diós mio, dònde estàlo!? Niño! - ___Oh my God, where is he!? Boy!

____Sa tore'ri tvai tor. Sa vesh'zungor -____ I did not mean to do that. I was only tired.

_____Què pensas __hacer? Tuve miedo! - _____What do you think you were doing? I was scared!

_____Lau-sa_ _trasha? - _____Can I leave?

______Sa tor'ri aitlu ne-tor be'lai -______ I do not want to be near them


	2. hahahhaahah AN

Okay okay, real talk to the like three followers of this and my other peeps. I went about this the whollllee wrong way, wanting to start with the end and work backwards, so we're doing this the right way. This is honestly going to be short, may tie into a later Avengers story I may do, and is still something I want to do. It's technically no pairing, so get used to that as well. The rest of this is going to be made so there isnt gratuitous amount of shit no one can understand, so lets have fun with that?

**~Hayato**


	3. FEATHERY ASSHOLES

FIRST REAL REAL CHAPTER WHOOO

* * *

All Jim can really remember when he comes to is the feeling of his body slowly shutting down and the looks of despair on his crew and the searing anger he'd felt at Kahn, and then he'd opened his eyes and oh.

He'd been demoted and transferred, Spock had been pissing him off. And then Kahn had shown up and killed hundreds in a berserk rage and sent them on a goose chase. And now he was- what, dead? There was no way he could have survived that radiation.

He supposed he'd have to accept the kick in the stomach that he'd never see any of his crew again. Drink with Bones. Banter with Spock. Play poker with Scotty and Hikaru.

Fuck.

"You're finally awake!" A relieved voice said above him, and he finally focused his eyes, blinking as a teen- had to be, way too short- sharpened into a recognisable shape. The kid looked like some punk from the 21st, with a curly mohawk and the odd piercing. The only reallllyyy disconcerting thing was, well, the wings.

"Where am I?" Jim asked, choosing to ignore the potential existential crisis flowing up in his mind. He sat up with a hiss, his muscles and joints on fire.

"Hold on there, kiddo, you're gonna be sore all over what with going out how you did." Who the hell you callin' kid? The teen pulled him up with a surprising amount of ease and guided him to a recliner that was blessedly plush, and he sunk down onto it with a sigh. The teen puttered around the room some more, looking for something, he assumed. It had to be an office, he thought, no other room could be as boring a shte one he was in. Grey walls, blue carpeting, and no windows made for a dull space, with the only breaks in colour being the sofa, some filing cabinets, and a desk. He noted with some interest that the desk itself was littered with pictures and post-it notes.

"Where am I?" He asked again, twisting to see the teen. He was rummaging through one of the larger cabinets. "Hell? Purgatory? Heaven? Nowhere? Am I getting sentenced?"

"Hold off on the questions for just a- there! ST-K-1395536!" The kid pulled out a frankly large file with a triumphant grin, hurrying back to the sofa and flopping down hard enough his wings rustled. "Now, to answer the first one, you are technically in Perdition- it's the word everyone uses down here, much nicer and better than what the feathery assholes upstairs call it."

"But..." Jim paused, eyeing the wings large and at attention. "Aren't you a feathery asshole?" The teen, and he should really learn his name, this was getting annoying, snorted and waved a hand.

"These are Perdition-created, believe me. They were more like tumours than wings for the first two and a half decades I had them. And I'm Ambrose, just so you know. And older than you by centuries, so you can get your nouns right." The teen, well, no, Ambrose said with a small smile. Could he read minds?

"Yes. It helps the job."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. Now, you, little Terran, are a special case, what with the universe altercations and general shittery that seems to be in your file. And I hate to say this, but you'd get the short stick if you actually went through the system. Probably be locked in the nothingness for a few centuries to serve out all that lust and wrath of yours. Luckily for you your life was screwed over, I guess." Ambrose said this all with an absent, slightly smiling expression as he flipped through what Jim supposed was his file.

"So... what? I'm getting booted back or something? Because of some emo Romulan?" He asked warily, feeling the need to shift away from the man. The- probably demon?- laughed, a genuine but sad one, and gently patted him on the hand.

"Yeah, sure. Let's put it that way. See, something to understand is that down here, every universe imaginable is managed and put through the works. We're only the European-American subdivision too- there's multiple Asian divisions, Interplanetary ones- I know your Vulcans have one involving a form of reincarnation, to put it _simply_\- even ones that go through more loops than the Upstairs Bureaucracy. And down here, we're always the ones getting the special cases. Beings who've essentially been fucked with- to the point where their lives have been altered and their world's balance changed- get sent down here, processed, and then sent back to the living. But. In another world. I mean, you wouldn't believe it, but the Japanese division actually sent this ginger kid over to us, whole botch-up of species, and he was shot off to be y..." The demon trailed off, glancing away with a grimace. Clearing his throat, he began again. "That's-uh, not important. What's important is that we've got to get you processed." He jumped up suddenly, startling Jim, and circled his desk, beginning to rummage in this drawer or that one. Jim chose to numbly sit back and try to figure out how the hell his life had come to this.

Well, he knew, didn't he, because of fucking Nero of all people. Now he was stuck going through some cycle of reincarnation- and he'd apparently been someone else stuck with this shit before? His IQ was above 150 for a reason, and he could figure out a slip like that easily. But that wasn't the point, because he was going to be shipped off to some new universe, and wasn't that fucking scary on some level, and he wasn't even going to remember-

"Wait!" Jim lurched forward, panic written plainly on his face, flinching slightly at the twinges of pain. "Am I going to remember anyone? Am I going to even know about-about any of this?" The expression on Ambrose's face told him that the demon hadn't even thought about it.

"I... don't know if that's allowed, kid." He hesitantly replied with a frown. He stared down at the whatever-he-was-holding, contemplation seeping into his features. "But... there's always loopholes. Good loopholes. Sometimes, it's required to keep something like that because of your position."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jim started, be he was abruptly cut off as Ambrose swung forward with a lunge and knocked him in the head. It felt as though he had been branded and he fell back with a yell, scrabbling at his forehead with pain. The burn spread downward, into his chest and limbs and everywhere else. The satisfied expression on that winged asshole's face wasn't helping, and neither was his blackening vision.

The last thing he could make out through the static in his ears was someone whispering, "Hey, tell Tony that the Cold War wasn't cold enough, could you?"

And then he blinked his eyes open to a light cream ceiling.


End file.
